


I'll Set the Table; You Can Make the Fire

by sidewalksofny



Series: Never Leave Your Side [2]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, M/M, Old Age, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-29
Updated: 2013-05-29
Packaged: 2017-12-13 07:34:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,313
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/821676
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sidewalksofny/pseuds/sidewalksofny
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Ryan, the nurse who had the next day’s morning shift, would know to bring two cups of tea, a double portion of beans and toast, and a vase brought from home when he came in the next morning." In which H/L are old together and Harry visits Louis in hospital. Heavily influenced by fun.'s "The Gambler."</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'll Set the Table; You Can Make the Fire

**Author's Note:**

> Some parts of this I really dislike because I couldn't get them to come out quite like I'd originally thought, and then other parts I really love. Regardless, feedback is always welcome and appreciated :c)

Jackie, who had that night’s shift at the nurse’s station, paused in her work when she heard the _ding!_  of the elevator, but she didn’t look up. Not yet, anyways. It was something of a game she liked to play with herself, guessing the visitors by their walk and the signature little noises people never realize they make. There wasn’t much guesswork involved this time, though—if the shuffle of loafers interspaced with the dull thud of a rubber-bottomed cane hadn’t given it away, the hour would have; there was only one visitor who so blatantly disregarded the “Visiting Hours!” sign cheerfully decorated by post-op residents of the juvenile ward posted right in front of her desk.

She looked up from her desk at the gentleman approaching her in a tweed jacket and bowtie, a bouquet of flowers in one hand and a smile in his eyes. “Hello, sweetheart,” he said upon reaching the station. 

Jackie gave him a sad smile and gestured to the clock on the wall. “Mr. Styles, you _know_ visiting hours are almost over.”

Harry smiled back. “I’m sure they are.” He studied the bouquet in his hand thoughtfully for a moment before pulling out a pink carnation and handing it to Jackie.

She nodded her thanks and kept her eyes on the flower as she let out a slow exhale. “Mr. Styles . . . the doctors asked me to let you know . . .” she finally looked up at him, determined to relay the message clear-eyed; he deserved that much. Harry held her gaze steadily, patiently. “He’s been getting weaker. It’s not . . . They’re not sure how much longer . . .”

He cut her off there, patting her wrist gently but firmly. “Thank you, love; that’s very sweet of you,” Harry answered, as if she’d just told him the next day’s forecast. “I’ll be in 1224.” She sat for a moment and watched him make his way down the hallway, slow but sure, before sighing and adding the carnation to the quite-full vase of flowers on her desk.

Harry opened the door quietly to find Louis dozing, snoring lightly, and Harry smiled when he noticed Louis had shifted to one side of the bed in his sleep. Carefully closing the door and leaning his cane against the wall—an aesthetic comfort, really, rather than a necessity yet—Harry took a moment to marvel at how small and pale and weak someone who wasn’t about to die could look. The doctors and nurses all thought poor old Mr. Styles was simply in denial, but it really wasn’t that; Harry just knew. Louis wasn’t dying—not yet, anyways. It just wasn’t his time, even if no one else seemed to understand that.

Louis stirred from his sleep, breaking Harry from his reverie. “Hi.”

“Hi.”

“You know, the nurses are starting to run out of vases. They’ve been raiding all the other wards’ supply closets.”

Harry shrugged. “I’ve been bringing you our garden.”

And so he had; every inch of table space and even some of the floor of the tiny room was filled with vases of flowers, tree leaves and branches, bundles of now-overripe tomatoes, handfuls of grass (“but you have to smell it, Lou! It smells so good I had to bring it to you”), and even an abandoned bird’s nest Harry had found. Now, he placed his latest bouquet on the chair he never used and carefully climbed into his spot next to Louis, head on his shoulder and hand on his chest, no longer minding the tubes and wires that crisscrossed there. They lay there in silence for a few minutes.

“I guess it makes sense,” Lou softly mused aloud. “The first time I held you we were in a hospital. And now—”

“Lou—”

“Did you call them?”

“Call who?”

Louis let out and exasperated sigh, “The _kids_ , Haz. Did you call the kids?”

“Why would I call them? You know he’s just started that new job and she has that big presentation coming up. Why would I worry them?”

“Harry—”

“You’re going to be fine. You’ll see.”

Louis laughed and shook his head. “How can you be so sure?”

Harry hummed a bit and pulled himself a little closer to Louis. “It’s not our time.”

“ _Harry_ our lives are not _The Notebook_ ; we don’t just _decide_ when we live or die. That’s not how real life works.”

Harry turned his head up to look at Louis, resting his chin on Louis’ chest now. “It’s not our time,” he repeated simply before returning to his original position.

Louis laughed more quietly this time, rubbing his thumb in tiny circles over the small of Harry’s back. “Ok.” He planted a kiss on top of Harry’s head. “Ok.”

Ryan, the nurse who had the next day’s morning shift, would know to bring two cups of tea, a double portion of beans and toast, and a vase brought from home when he came in the next morning.

 

**Three weeks later**

“What time did you say the kids’ll be here?”

Harry glanced up from the cutting board to the clock. “Around half-past. So soon.”

Louis came out of the fridge with a Ziploc of marinating chicken. “Guess I should start up with this then, mm?”

“Yeah. Hey.” Louis turned around into Harry’s mouth, eyebrows popping a bit at the surprise kiss. Harry broke away with a smile, “Happy House Day.”

Nearly fifty years later, Harry could still make Louis’ eyes crinkle just as much as the day they’d met. “Happy House Day.”

It’d felt a bit silly the first year, when Harry had insisted on a bottle of champagne and later tipsy dancing in the living room to celebrate the first anniversary of owning their own home, but somehow the tradition had stuck. There were still birthday cards folded up and jammed into little crevices throughout the house from the years when their daughter had still insisted on such things. Their son had chosen a more direct approach one year and written his “Howse Day” love right on his bedroom wall in shaky crayon; they’d decided to leave it up and hang a frame around it. Over the years the homemade holiday had evolved into a celebration of the family they had become and their lives together—all they had been through and all that lay ahead of them still.

Now Harry finished the salad he’d been preparing, set out the plates, and carried a glass of wine in each hand out onto the back porch. He set them down on the railing and wrapped his arms around Louis, who wasn’t too preoccupied with his barbecuing to reach around to Harry’s bum and pull him in that much closer before closing his eyes and leaning his head back with a sigh.

“Amazing the change three weeks can make, isn’t it? 

“Mmmm.”

“You really did know all along, didn’t you? That I’d be fine?”

Harry pressed a kiss into the curve between Louis’ neck and shoulder, breathing in Louis’ hair, his shirt, his skin. “Of course.”

They both heard the doorbell ring and opened their eyes. Harry nipped at Louis’ ear before untangling himself to answer it, and Louis watched him go with the sparkle in his eyes that he’d used to try to hide from Harry when they’d first met, before he’d realized how futile his efforts were. He turned back to the grill and flipped the chicken pieces one at a time; they were just about finished now, and he started transferring them to a plate—one of a set Harry had brought home from a rummage sale too many years ago. The grass really did smell wonderful that day, and Louis could hear the birds singing and the happy chatter of his family inside as they exchanged greetings.  He couldn’t remember when the sky had been so blue. Louis turned off the grill and went inside.


End file.
